In this life, we're dead anyway
by ellowyntinuviel
Summary: She would hold Rachel close and wish that their lives could be different, that they weren't sworn enemies in the middle of a gang war that was bigger than either of them. One day, Santana knew that she would either have to kill Rachel or be killed. AU.
1. Prologue

Title: In this life, we're dead anyway  
>Rating: T for violence and language<br>Pairings: Rachel/Santana, Mike/Tina, others currently undecided but will be added as they arise  
>Summary: She would hold Rachel close and wish that their lives could be different, that they weren't sworn enemies in the middle of a gang war that was bigger than either of them. One day, Santana knew that she would either have to kill Rachel or be killed.<p>

A/N: This is the start of a prompt fill for _G6-flying_. I'm taking ideas for other pairings you might like to see, including ones for Rachel and Santana (Pezberry is endgame, though.) Please review and let me know what you think.

**Prologue**

He fixed the hat sitting atop his head, sliding his fingers across the brim of it as he twisted it slightly. He stood tall and straight, his ratty t-shirt clinging to his biceps and his abs. It was torn, but it was he nicest one he had and he hoped it would be enough for her.

The moonlight fell across the field gently, its glow soft. He heard the sound of grasses shift behind him and he twisted around quickly. He pulled his gun out immediately, pointing it ahead of him. He saw who it was and slipped his weapon back into his pocket, exhaling in relief.

She stood before him as she always did, long wavy black hair falling past her shoulders. She raised her hands when he whipped around and smiled at him when he put away his gun.

"I'm glad you came," he said, reaching out to take her hand in his own. He hated having to point his semi-automatic pistol at her as soon as she met him (it drove him mad that he had to do it every time he met the woman he loved) but it was a necessary precaution in the world they lived in. And from the sweet and understanding smile she would give him afterwards, she didn't mind too much. She confessed once that she was so used to having guns pointed at her that she didn't think she would know what to do if a meeting with someone didn't start with a pistol or a shotgun aimed at the head.

"I would never miss another chance to dance with you," she said, gripping his hand tightly.

He grinned boyishly, taking his hat off because he figured that he was nothing special, but he wanted to be a gentleman. He didn't know when he would see her again, so he threw himself headfirst into making their night special. It was their first meeting in months, and with the current state of affairs, it would probably be several more months until they could do this again.

A figure stood behind her, a few feet behind the girl he was meeting. She stared at them sullenly, her own dark locks tied up into a ponytail. She crossed her arms.

"And thank you," he said. "Thank you for doing this."

"I'm not here for you," she responded. Her jaw was set firm and tension was written across her face. "You know where to find me when you're done," she said to the other woman.

She walked away from them then, heading back towards the line of trees they had come out of. A figure waited for her there and the person waved in his direction. He raised his hand and waved back, still smiling.

He smiled again and turned back towards the girl in front of him. He took the hand he was holding and brought it to rest on his shoulder. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He apologized that he couldn't dress nicer for her.

She smiled up at him and told him that he was perfect.

They danced together, holding each other close as they swayed to music that only they could hear in their heads. Eventually, she started crying, pressing her face to his chest and sobbing into his shirt. He held her and moved them around the clearing, holding on to the moment as best he could. Tomorrow was a new day, after all, and they could be dead by the end of it. The thought settled deep in his heart and so he kissed her and watched two figures in the trees do the same.

* * *

><p>"I'm surprised this isn't an ambush," she said.<p>

Santana shrugged, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "I gave my word."

"A person's word doesn't mean much these days," Rachel answered immediately. "And no offense, _your_ word means even less to me than most."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Shit, I'm not heartless," she said. "I wouldn't do that to Tina."

"Good," Rachel nodded. She glanced at her watch and buttoned her sweater. There was a hole in the bottom hem and it hung loose about her hips. It looked like it might have been a shade of pink once, but it had long since faded into a dull tan. The wind blew past them, rustling the leaves. The ratty sweater did little to ward out the chill and Rachel shivered.

They stood in silence together, leaning against the trees. Across the field, Mike and Tina danced together, two silhouettes caught in the moonlight. It stole Rachel's breathe away and from the look on Santana's face, it stole hers away, too. These were their only calm moments together, and while Rachel didn't entirely trust Santana, she knew that the taller girl was just as struck by the beauty of Mike and Tina's romance as she was.

"If they knew we were out here, we would be killed," Rachel said. "All of us, including you."

Santana shrugged her jacket off, handing it to a shivering Rachel. "Then it's a good thing they don't know we're out here."

Rachel took the offered article of clothing, her fingers running across the fabric. It was leather, real leather. It looked and felt expensive; it was definitely the nicest thing Rachel had seen in many years. "Santana," she breathed, smiling. She always forgot in the heat of battle fighting that there was a real person underneath Santana's vicious exterior, that she was hesitantly sweet.

The other girl waved her hand at Rachel. "Don't say it," she said.

Rachel didn't say _it._ She didn't need to; they both understood what _it_ was. "Thank you," she said instead, slipping the jacket over her shoulders. It smelled like Santana, like warm summer homes and perfume that cost more than the Puckerman and Fabray homes combined.

"You're welcome, or whatever," Santana muttered, eyeing the girl next to her. Her jacket was a little big for Rachel, its sleeves hanging down over her hands. But it looked good and it looked right, Rachel wearing her clothes. She sighed heavily and held her hand out towards the other girl, turning her head away to look at Mike and Tina.

Rachel gripped her hand tightly and moved closer to her. "I wish that we could have been different, all of us," she said, leaning against Santana. "Sometimes, I wish we could still just be rivals again," she admitted.

Santana said nothing for a long moment and Rachel knew that her silence meant that Santana wished for the same things she did. "If I see you tomorrow, you know I'll have to kill you," Santana said.

Rachel nodded, lacing their fingers together. "Likewise, of course," she replied. "Tomorrow."

Santana glanced down at their hands locked together and remembered when her life had been simple, when she had stepped into the role of a leader and then fallen in love with the one person she was never meant to. Santana thought of the first time she had heard about Rachel Berry, how much she had hated the girl on principle. And then she thought of the first time she had seen Rachel in person and everything about her life had changed.

Santana kissed Rachel then, clutching the material of her jacket and pulling her close. She needed to know what it felt like just once - kissing Rachel. Tomorrow, or any day after that, one of them could die. Rachel might have to put her gun to the back of Santana's head and pull the trigger. Or worse, _she_ might have to do it to Rachel. And she needed to kiss her once before it happened.

"_There is no Paradise. It only exists in your head!"  
><em>"_God forbid! May God forgive you. I'd rather have Paradise in my head than live in this hell! In this life, we're dead anyway."  
><em>Paradise Now


	2. Twenty Feet Away

I know that it's short and that it's been forever, but I got a small burst of inspiration and I don't know when the next one will come. In the meantime, enjoy.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Rachel, are you ready?" Puck asked, peeking his head into her room.<p>

Rachel nodded, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder. She grabbed the gun she kept on her small dresser and slipped it into her belt, hoping that she wouldn't have to use it.

"Did you go over the plans, Noah? I gave you very detailed instructions and I expect then to be followed," she said, slipping past the boy in the doorway.

"I skimmed them," he shrugged.

"Noah!" she cried. "We have these plans for a reason."

They strode together down the hallway of the Puckerman home, their arms brushing. "There are plans and procedures, Noah. When you don't know all of them, you make mistakes," she continued. "That's not to say you specifically, but people in general."

Puck rolled his eyes, elbowing her as they reached the living room. "Come in, Rachel. My job is to protect you," he said. "You know I don't really care about all that other shit."

"Noah, no swearing in the house," his mother said, sitting on the couch. Rachel pulled the two sides of her jacket together, zipping it before the woman could see the gun she had. "I can't control what you do out there," she told Puck, "but I still have the final say when you're in here."

Sharon Puckerman shot her son a knowing look. "And where are you two going today?"

Puck shrugged. "Sorry, ma."

"We thought we might go to the Fabray home today and spend some time with our friends," Rachel answered for them both. "Winter will be here soon and you know how difficult traversing the roads becomes after the weather changes."

Mrs. Puckerman frowned at the two of them, eyeing Rachel's backpack and the way her son kept his eyes on the ground and refused to look at her. "Of course, dear," she said eventually, sighing. "Just be careful."

"We always are," Rachel said, nodding towards Puck briefly. He picked up a duffel bag from behind the ratty couch and threw it over his shoulder. Rachel's fingers trailed over the arm of the couch, the fabric rough under them. It was old and practically falling apart, the once bright blue now dull and muted, one of the legs broken. The only thing that kept it balanced was the thick dictionary held underneath the shortest corner leg. Everything was broken.

"We always are," she said again, softer this time.

She was going to fix it.

* * *

><p>Puck was waiting for her outside the front door, an unlit cigarette dangling from between his lips. He was searching his pockets for a lighter, grinning triumphantly when he found one wedged between the two knives he kept in his boot at all times.<p>

"Noah, you know how I feel about that disgusting habit," Rachel scolded him. She snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it on the dirt, grinding her foot down before she started walking at a brisk pace down the street. She kept close to the sides of buildings, watching the shadows down side streets and the uniforms in the middle of the roads. Rachel liked to imagine their missions as a kind of dance, with her as the soloist of course, sidestepping her way around the backup dancers who threatened her spotlight at every turn. They moved left, she moved right, twisting away and gliding across the dirt stage of their town streets.

Puck groaned. "Aw, fuck. Do you know what I had to do to get that? That was good shit," he said. "It took me like, two months of running for the Dovers to get that stuff. _Fuck._"

"You'll ruin your vocal chords, for one. Not to mention the countless other stresses you're putting on your body," Rachel started, prepared to rattle off another list of reasons as to why Puck shouldn't smoke.

"What the fuck do I need vocal chords for?"

Rachel cast uneasy eyes towards the street where one of the uniformed men had caught sight of them and was watching them closely. She sent him a small smile and gripped Puck's arm. "Lower your voice," she said. "You're getting their attention."

Puck looked over his shoulder briefly, pulling the collar of his jacket up around his neck and ducking down a bit. "Fucking assholes," he muttered. "And seriously? You're gonna lecture me on being too loud? I'm not the one who keeps the neighbors up all night howling like some damn wolf, okay?"

"I've been practicing, Noah," Rachel said to him firmly. "One day, I'm going to have that stage and I have to prepared."

He snorted, throwing an arm around her shoulder. They turned the corner onto a small street where the small houses were clustered together almost right on top of one another, all of them biege covered by a layer of dust that made them look like different rooms of the same home. There was a splash of pink amid the earthy tones of the neighborhood and from underneath it Quinn Fabray raised a hand in greeting and flicked a cigarette to the ground. Mike Chang was standing next to her, smiling at them.

"Honestly," Rachel scoffed. "Must everyone in East Lima insist on smoking?"

Puck shook his head. "You're going to have your stage or we'll all be dead," he said quietly. He shrugged, watching Rachel greet Quinn. "We might as well be."

* * *

><p>"Santana, we have to go. We've got some reports of suspicious activity in the east and I want to get home in time to finish this routine."<p>

"Jesse, it's the east. There's always suspicious activity," Santana replied, rolling her eyes. She casually laced up her boots, smirking as she saw Jesse's agitation rise. It was one of her favorite pastimes, riling Jesse up. It was easy but satisfying.

"Listen, Lopez, I have no fewer than seventeen dancers arriving tonight and I want to be here to prepare them for the midnight festivities," he said. "So get your ass in gear and let's go so we can get back. Have you seen the dancers your dad hired? They're like crack-addicted squirrels with longer legs and bigger tits. I need all the time I can get with them."

Santana straightened herself, waving a hand at him dismissively. He shook his head at her slightly, a few perfectly-placed strands of hair moving ever so slightly. "Alright, alright. Don't mess up your hair, St. Douchebag. I'm ready."

Jesse pulled on a black backpack, adjusting the straps. "St. Douchebag? I have to say that I'm disappointed, Lopez. Your insults aren't what they used to be."

Santana elbows him roughly in the ribs and he winced, clenching his fists. "Shut up. Where are Brittany and Tina?"

"Already in the car," he answered. When he saw her open her mouth, he shook his head. "Not coming," he said simply, climbing into the back of a black car. Santana sighed and slid in next to him.

* * *

><p><em>"Do you believe in fate? That there are things that just...happen? That they can't be stopped no matter how hard you try?"<em>

_"It doesn't matter what I believe, Kurt. I'm not going to die for her."_

_"Who says you have to die?"_

_"I can't."_

_"I'm happy, Santana. I'm happier with him than I ever was at home. One day this will all be over and he and I will have each other. Who will you have?"_


End file.
